


Grounded

by ashinan



Series: Sleep verse [5]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been two weeks, three days and nineteen hours since Tony had made his move and Steve had responded. Steve hasn’t pushed the issue again and Tony wonders if he got the algorithm wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth, HOMG FIFTH, installment of the gift fic series for [-lazarus](http://-lazarus.tumblr.com/)! (ALSO, if you are all impatient, the next two installments are already posted up on [tumblr](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/)!)

“You know what should be a job for the Avengers? Pulling me from board meetings. My god, I feel like I’ve been surrounded by unimaginative assholes that can’t even _begin_ to understand the basics of repulsor tech or the apparent applications that don’t include making things that go _boom_ ,” Tony says, flopping down on the couch beside Steve. Steve raises an eyebrow and continues to sketch, the skritch of lead filling the room. Tony peers at him, takes in the angle of the pencil, the way Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed at thirty two percent and squirms closer, ducking his head under Steve’s ridiculous arm and making himself comfortable on Steve’s lap.

Steve sighs and readjusts. “We’re not your personal extraction team, Tony.”

“Oh, but you could be.”

There’s a smile at the corner of Steve’s mouth and Tony wants to kiss it, trace the angles with his lips and memorize the formulas of Steve’s skin. But they’ve only ever kissed that one time, and though Steve still allows Tony free reign of his personal space, it’s been two weeks, three days and nineteen hours since Tony had made his move and Steve had responded. Steve hasn’t pushed the issue again and Tony wonders if he got the algorithm wrong.

Biting his lip, Tony shifts around again, peering at the sketch Steve is working on. “Wait, what? That is me. Why do you have a sketch of me in your book. How did you even, when have I stayed still long enough for you to even _get_ an outline of me down on paper? Let alone with lead? You realize this would be so much easier for you to carry around if you let me design you a tablet, one that has all the bells and whistles but is still old fashioned enough for your nineteen forty self. I could revolutionize the line of artistic ware out in the world, call it The Rogers and everyone would buy it, knowing Captain America uses the same tablet to sketch all his artwork and no, really, how did you manage to sketch that?”

Steve laughs, his stomach contracting against the back of Tony’s head and Tony mindlessly notes that Steve is still just as warm as that first night he had wrapped Tony up in his arms. The memory has become something of an obsession, little numbers and formulas marking up the scenery as he tries to ascertain _why_ Steve would allow such a thing to happen. And he knows Steve said he would take care of Tony, he _knows that_ , but really, taking care of Tony right now should include kissing. Which Steve isn’t doing.

“I wonder sometimes what goes on in your head when you go away like that,” Steve says, and Tony realizes there are fingers in his hair, brushing back and over. He hums and pushes into them, closing his eyes.

“It would be a terrifying day if you had to deal with the shit I do,” Tony replies, trying to stop his mind from working out pressure rates and possible time lapses. Steve’s fingers still and Tony flinches, biting at his tongue.

“You do that, all the time, say things you don’t expect.” The fingers resume their scratching and Tony melts under them. Steve continues, “Is it because of me or something else?”

Frowning, Tony tries to work backwards in the conversation, but his mind is sluggish from being pet. He says, “Well, it’s usually just algebra and formulas, numbers and reasons for, say, why people do what they do, what the possible pressure of your fingers are, why you’re still an outlier and haven’t abandoned me like others have. Things like that. Wait, no, don’t stop scratching, what are you doing?”

There are hands on his face, gentle fingers stroking along his cheekbones and Tony blinks his eyes open, staring up into startling blue. The thirty two degree furrow has become sixty seven and Tony backtracks in his mind, picking out the words that caused such an issue and berates himself for having a metaphorical big mouth.

“You think I’ll abandon you?” Steve says, still soft, words heavy with meaning, and Tony panics.

“Well, would you look at that? Workshop time and what have you. Clint is trying out that new bow I made, the one with the specialized elbow pad that will help compensate for his weight distribution and Natasha has really been looking forward to throwing me around the ring, I set up a training time with her three weeks ago but have been putting that off and I really should –”

There are lips on his, foreign lips, lips that he has calculated and known and logged away as pertinent information. He blinks, coming back to himself, and reaches up to touch Steve’s hair, ascertaining the reality of the situation, and when his mind throws at him the texture specs, the longevity of a kiss that he is not actively participating, and the fact that it is one Steve Rogers, Tony reacts.

His eyes slide shut, body arching slightly to get a better angle. He curls his fingers in Steve’s hair, hushing the hum of softness ratios and oil indexes, concentrates instead on the slight chapped feeling of Steve’s mouth against his own. He banishes the charts of dry vs moist, the warmth bar graph, and the equation for seduction techniques. He pushes all the numbers to the back of his mind and lets it instead fill with sensory input from Steve.

Steve presses down on him gently, one hand still curled against Tony’s cheek and the other just below the arc reactor. Tony sighs, tracing Steve’s lips with his tongue, schematics for turning the kiss into something dirty and fierce rushing to the forefront. Steve sidetracks him though, pulls back and kisses the corner of Tony’s eye, brushes his nose against Tony’s and then slides back down to kiss him again, still calm, still unhurried. Tony shudders beneath him, overwhelmed by the lack of obvious trajectory and tightens his fingers in Steve’s hair. Steve responds with another soft peck before pulling back.

“You talk too much,” he says, voice rough. Tony sucks in a breath and smiles up at him, shaky and unsure. Numbers clamour for his attention and he shoves them back.

“I tend to do that.” Tony tugs at him. “Now come back here.”

Steve laughs, leans down, and presses another one of those ridiculously soft kisses to Tony’s mouth. His lips move away and trace over Tony’s cheek and Tony’s skin is left tingling, bright and foreign and he fights to stay grounded, to remain in this moment and not allow the numbers to grab and pull him away. Steve is so careful with him, scattering the parameters Tony had spent so long imagining, replacing them with new ones only to remove those as well. Tony is dizzy with it, figures flitting around his mind like startled birds, and he sighs when Steve returns to his lips, dragging him into another drugging kiss, effectively silencing the noise in his head.

There is never a clear path for when the kiss turns more frantic, and Tony knows he should look for it, figure it out, ascertain the origin and file it away for later, but he’s too busy now clinging to Steve’s shoulders. There is a pencil digging uncomfortably into Tony’s ribcage, but he disregards it to bite at Steve’s lip, gasping when Steve returns the favour. Steve kisses with a single minded focus, taking control before Tony can even consider it and Tony thrills under the attention, Steve finally following a set bell curve. But before Tony can push himself up, to get more comfortable (preferably in Steve’s lap), Steve pulls back with a soft sigh.

“No, no, _no_ , you are horrible at following the outlined rules, I swear,” Tony huffs, clinging stubbornly. Steve blinks down at him, mouth slick and red, eyes blown wide, and Tony almost, _almost_ , grabs for the seduction formula. He refrains, barely, and releases Steve to fall back on his lap with a sigh. “We are never going to get past necking, are we?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve is back to stroking his hair again, fingers digging in deliciously at the back of Tony’s skull.

“You, me, the obvious failure on your part to take advantage of something that very much wants to be taken advantage of. I am _lying in your lap_ , Steve. I don’t know how to make myself more desirable, save hiding naked in your bed and shouting ‘surprise’.” Tony crosses his arms and tilts his head so Steve can smooth the hair behind his ear.

“You would probably do something like that,” Steve muses, amusement clear in his voice. Tony doesn’t look at him, peering at Steve’s knees and the lack of sketchbook. Steve coughs. “Well, I just, I thought maybe we should take it slow? You seemed a little off the last time we talked, and I wasn’t sure if starting a relationship then would be best for you.”

Tony’s eyes snap back, bypassing the delicious blush that stains Steve’s cheeks. “You are ridiculous and not human and _a figment of my tortured imagination_ , aren’t you. I mean, there is no other obvious explanation for why you would still be here and why I would still be here and _trying_ and really, the math adds up but I’m pulling a failure to reject here, so would you explain to me your reasoning?”

Blinking, Steve furrows his brow and passes a finger over Tony’s lips. Tony resists the urge to take it in his mouth and continues to glare up at Steve. “You’re talking in mathematical jargon again, Tony. Try again.”

“You. Are. Frustrating. Me,” Tony says, teeth bared.

“And you’re adorable when you don’t get what you want,” Steve laughs, ruffling his hair. “Just wait, okay, Tony? I’m trying something new, you’re trying something new, why not see where the equation leads?”

“I am going to explode before we even get to the whole naked part of this relationship tango, aren’t I?” Tony says, allowing himself to be moved so Steve can stand. “I’m going to die from sexual frustration and then the Avengers will be without tech support, or Iron Man, or my _house_ , and then what will you do?”

Steve leans down, short-circuiting Tony’s mind with another deep kiss. When Steve pulls back, Tony is almost too dazed to notice the formula hidden behind Steve’s ear. Steve shakes his head. “I’m going for a run. Don’t stay up too late, all right?”

And with that, Steve turns on his heel and leaves. Tony huffs, flopping over on the couch and staring forlornly down at the sketchbook on the floor. It’s still opened to the picture of Tony, slumped over in the kitchen with a coffee mug and his shirt on backwards. Tony bats at it, ignores the slide of a nine and the bite of a two, and tries to suffocate himself in the pillow.

Screw it, tonight he’s hiding in Steve’s bed and wearing a surprise sign.


End file.
